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by Daniela_is_not_amused



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daniela_is_not_amused/pseuds/Daniela_is_not_amused
Summary: "Because the smell of their sheets and Gendry’s body and the dew-heavy air is home, and there is nowhere else she’d rather be."





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**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. Not beta-read. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

The moon is high up in the sky by the time Arya gets back to Winterfell.

The castle has that kind of quiet stillness that only occurs so late at night; there’s a film of dew on the cold walls that surround the castle, fog clinging to the damp corners as the North straddles the line between late summer and early winter. Aside from the occasional whisper between the guards and the faraway sounds of wolves howling in the distance, the city is ghostly and silent.

The quiet rings in Arya’s ears, makes the hollow echoes in her mind all the louder. She’d been successful, in her mission, but some enemies won’t go down without a fight - something that she would admire more if tonight’s endeavor hadn’t made her so bone-deep tired.

The bar on the main door is wet with fat dewdrops and cold against her hand, gleaming in the orange light of the torches. Arya pushes the heavy wooden door and steps in as silently as she can.

She doesn’t lights up her torch, though the hallway is mostly dark. She just toes off her sticky boots - with what else besides dew, she doesn’t think about - as to not leave an unpleasant trail for all to see and heads up the stairs, shedding each piece of her armor. Arya doesn’t feel quite weightless by the time she reaches her chambers, but it’s something. It’s better.

There’s a light coming from within the room, and Arya nudges the door open with careful fingers; it’s not unusual for Gendry to fall asleep while waiting up for her, and there’s no need to wake him if that’s the case.

But no: Gendry’s awake, rumpled and looking only half as tired as Arya feels, propped awkwardly against the headboard as he reads from a yellowing book. From the looks of it he’s been slowly sliding down as he reads, hair drying into frizzy, unstyled locks (she’s glad he left his hair grow once again, it suits him much better), his shirt creased from sitting so long. It makes warmth bloom in Arya’s chest and her heart ache at the same time, even though it’s a sight she’s seen many times before: her Gendry.

Gendry looks up when Arya pushes the door the rest of the way open and pads inside barefoot, stifling a yawn with her hand - now that the adrenaline has run its course and she’s safe and she’s here, her exhaustion is catching up on her. She could’ve stayed in an inn or even camp somewhere along the way but oh, it’s worth it - to see the sleepy smile on Gendry’s face, the casual warmth as he stretches languidly, yawning and pulling the dark hair off of his face. 

Arya can only grumble wordlessly when Gendry murmurs a tired hello, turning in his arms so he can gather her to his chest and leave kisses along her temple and cheek. She closes her eyes, snuggles deeper into the pillow and into Gendry, inhaling the scent of him and letting herself unwind, letting herself relax, letting her mind settle and calm. Because the smell of their sheets and Gendry’s body and the dew-heavy air is home, and there is nowhere else she’d rather be.


End file.
